Tales of Ravenloft

The Judgment of abd-al-Mamat

Eh? Visitors? I should have known my fire would have other effects than merely warding off the chill air. Come closer, friends, for no man or beast should be denied comfort on this night. Yes, my skin is duskier than yours, but it is better to be too dark than too pale, eh? Have no fear, my friend, for no ghul or ancient elder am I, but only a simple traveler, carrying his life on his back. Come closer.

A thousand pardons. You seem taken aback by my hand, or rather the stump where my hand should be. Alas, I wish I had a stirring tale to explain this malformation, but such is not the case. I was a simple thief, and for my thievery I was judged guilty and punished by the lopping off of my thieving appendage — a lesson to me and a warning to others. Such is the harsh justice of my home.

Perhaps I do have a story, then. Not of my personal judgment, but of judgment nonetheless. I come from the land of al-Kathos, a harsh land of hard judgments. I call upon the listener to turn a good ear to this tale, upon the scribe for a firm and learned hand, and upon Fate herself to guide my words as I tell them to you.

Al-Kathos is a land of sweeping arid wastes and burning sands. It is ruled by the powerful and evil Malbus, a ram-horned abomination who dwells in his Burning Citadel, commanding legions of hellish minions and dining on the flesh of those mortals he captures. However, it is not his tale that I now tell, and he must wait for another evening.

My homeland is also the land of the Sand Singers, luscious wraiths who lure the damned to their dooms with soft scents and honeyed tongues. But though they tempt, theirs is not the tale I tell now. And al-Kathos is the home of the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods, yet even their story must stand aside for the moment.

For this is a tale of judgment.

In the land of al-Kathos there lived a great and powerful man, fair of face and strong of manner. His eyes glistened with a brilliance akin to the desert stars, and his name was abd-al-Mamat. He was thoughtful and wise, even in his youth, and spoke only when he had first thought what he meant to say, cutting to the heart of the matter and discerning truth from fiction.

Yet his role in life was determined not by what he was but by what he was not: for he was not born into high station. This abd-al-Mamat was the son of a slave, and though himself a free man, was considered of low birth and little worth. Were he the son of a sheikh, what you might call a clan leader here, all that followed might have been avoided. But alas, not a dram of noble blood flowed in his veins, and the luxuries of the nobility were denied him.

Yet his talent and his wisdom were recognized, first by his equals, and then by his betters, then by the tribal elders. Many came to seek his advice, and he thought carefully of each request, regardless of the seeker. He never said a word that he did not mean, for, as you know, braying is the mark of all asses. The word spread among his tribe that this low-born orphan, this son of a slave, was a font of wisdom and sound advice.

And at last, when the sheikh sought out a new counselor, which is called in al-Kathos a vizier, he came to abd-al-Mamat. The young man was honored and readily agreed to serve the sheikh with a glad heart. As the sheikh's advisor, he would sit near him at the head of the feast, at the side of his master, and offer counsel in all the sheikh's actions.

And that was enough, at first. As the young abd-alMamat grew to his maturity, he advised well and often. Yet the excitement of his advancement, near the head of the feast, wore thin as abd-al-Mamat grew older.

Abd-al-Mamat could sit near the head of the feast, but not at the head of the feast; he could counsel, but he could not decide; he could advise, but not rule. Even the most foolish of the sheikh's brothers had more claim to tribal rulership than he, and should something happen to the sheikh, they would command, not he. And the sheikh himself would often have this thoughts muddled by wine or other pleasures and not heed his words, obvious and truthful though they be.

Late into the evening abd-al-Mamat would pace his tent and curse Fate for his lot. At first he would feel shame for cursing so, in that he thought himself a good man, and good men accept their Fate. Later he felt shame in that others might spy him cursing Fate, and so think less of him. And later still he would feel no shame at all, and wondered at the foolishness of his master.

And after that time he declined even to sit at the sheikh's flank, unless he was so commanded.

As a result, abd-al-Mamat was not present at the feast that was disturbed by the arrival of an exhausted horseman. The rider bolted into the sheikh's pavilion, still mounted, his horse foaming at the bit. Sitting pillows, tribesmen, and wine goblets flew in all directions as the rider spun in place near the center of the revelry.

The rider spoke in gasps, as if he and not his horse had made the long gallop. A merchant caravan from the Burning Citadel had been spotted not far away, he said. It had been in some battle, for it had a fraction of its legion of guards, and the survivors looked worn and bloodied. Should some further harm befall this weakened party, said the rider, then the treasures they carried would be free for the taking.

The celebration was electrified by the news, and the sheikh's brothers soon began arguing among themselves as how to split this as-yet-ungained treasure. The sheikh's eye lit with greed as well, but he summoned abd-al-Mamat. The vizier stamped his way to the sheikh's flank near the head of the feast.

The sheikh said," A weakened party of merchants from Malbus is in our lands, oh vizier — wounded, weakened, and bloodied. What say you to this?"

Abd-al-Mamat scowled at the thought of the ramheaded abomination's wrath and of what the sheikh said, and he asked no further questions. Instead, he nodded and said," Go to them. The rewards will be great."

The vizier's fellow tribesmen gave a hearty shout, and as one, they tore from the pavilion to mount up and pursue the merchants. A large mob of them, touched by wine and dreaming of great treasure, set off at once, the sheikh and his brothers at the head of the van.

Abd-al-Mamat, standing among the remains of the revelry, watched with a puzzled look on his face as they departed. He watched the sheikh's party until they were mere dots on the horizon, and he shook his head. One of the sheikh's other servants stepped forward and asked why he looked so troubled.

Abd-al-Mamat said," It is strange that there would be so much excitement for a simple mission to rescue some merchants'caravan."

The servant looked at abd-al-Mamat agog, and said," They do not intend to rescue them, but to rob them. That was what the sheikh was asking."

Abd-al-Mamat's eyes widened, and he said in an icecold voice," That is not what he asked. . I have sent our master into great peril! We must send a rider at once to stop them."

A rider was sent, but arrived too late to save the sheikh. He and his brothers and the flower of the tribe's warriors swept down upon the caravan, and the merchants in fear called upon the protection of their fiendish master. Malbus answered their call, for a tower of flame erupted from the desert floor. Of the fifty warriors who attacked, only the rider lived to tell the tale, and he only because he fled before the fire.

At the rider's return, there was a great lamentation among the tribesmen, and none cried louder than abdal-Mamat. He publicly cursed himself for a fool for misunderstanding his master's words, and tore his garments in his grief. And yet still, surprisingly, he kept his wits about him and demanded everyone work at once to tear down the camp and abandon that which could not be carried easily. For, he said in a grim voice, the minions of the Burning Citadel might choose to slay not only those who attacked, but those who shared the blood of those who attacked.

And abd-al-Mamat's words were proved correct, for the minions of Malbus did pursue them. For seven nights and a night they traveled hard and fast, across the most desolate of the wastes, with the minions in pursuit. And those who faltered or who were left behind were slain by these minions, and their screams carried on the desert winds to drive the survivors onward. And throughout their flight abd-al-Mamat chose the correct and safest path. And if he felt anger or rage or any other emotion about the death of his foolish master, he did not show it.

When at last they reached safety and ascertained that the hellish minions of Malbus had abandoned their chase, the people gathered together to determine their own fate. The best warriors and leaders were dead, save for the sheikh's youngest son, who was not yet of his majority. Faced with such a blow to their very heart, many other tribes would merely have ceased to be, their families and clans wandering apart.

Some of the tribe felt they should disband and wander apart. Then abd-al-Mamat stepped forward, and, tears in his eyes, declared his failure, for his advice had cost them their sheikh and their bravest warriors.

And the people replied that he was not to blame for their sheikh's folly, and it was only through his wisdom that they did not all perish. Abd-al-Mamat bent his head in thanks, then, and swore to keep the tribe together, and to serve as regent until the young sheikh came to his majority, then step aside. And the people acclaimed that decision as the correct and just one.

And the decision was correct and just, for the tribe prospered. Abd-al-Mamat arranged the marriages of several beauties to the sons of other sheikhs, and strengthened alliances and trade. He mollified the agents of the Burning Citadel, such that the minions of Malbus no longer hunted them. And at last the tribe settled at the foot of the last spur of the Lost Mountains. The tribe so profited from abd-al-Mamat's decisions that few, young or old, pursued any course of import in love or war or money without the counsel of abd-al-Mamat, vizier and teacher to the next sheikh.

And abd-al-Mamat could be seen trying to impart his wisdom on the young sheikh, a task that met with mixed results. The young sheikh was the image of his father in many ways, including an impulsive nature and love for rich finery, great feasts, and the attention of young women. The young sheikh also carried within him a savage temper, and on more than one occasion argued with his regent, winning his point only by reminding abd-al-Mamat of his place: the vizier was the son of a slave, and the youth the son of a sheikh. Abd-al-Mamat nodded in agreement and showed no ire, but instead served the young master as he had his old. The people flourished, and the youth depended on his regent to maintain and enforce the harsh laws of their people.

And it was at this time that abd-al-Mamat began to fully study all the old legends, both for the wisdom of their laws and the powerful magics that they described. And he received emissaries from Malbus, and some said from the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods. Servants and slaves were sent to the far corners of the land, to return with musty tomes and ancient legends. Some did not return at all, and some returned silent, with their eyes purged from their skulls. Some said that this was a clear sign that the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods had been involved. Those who said this said it very quietly.

And so it was: abd-al-Mamat sought further wisdom and tried to impart it on the young sheikh until only a few weeks before the young sheikh's majority.

At that time, the encampment was awakened by shouts and screams, though no one remembered afterward who sounded the alarm first. The daughter of an esteemed and wealthy elder of the tribe was missing from her tent, and could not be found anywhere in camp. The vizier was roused and organized a search, and in the search several noted that the young sheikh was not present.

They found the young sheikh, and what remained of the girl, in the young sheikh's quarters, and even abd-alMamat was struck pale by what he saw within those cloth walls.

The young sheikh was brought before abd-al-Mamat and said he knew nothing of what had occurred, though his robes and hands and face were smeared with her blood. He talked of being drunk on wine, of not remembering returning to his tent. He then gathered himself and proclaimed his innocence in a loud and proud voice. He claimed foul sorcery was responsible for this crime, and it should be remembered that he was the son of the sheikh.

Abd-al-Mamat heard the case, as he heard all such cases, and said nothing at first, his face solemn and pale, as if turned to gray stone. Then he rose and said he must consult, for as all know, a hasty decision is invariably wrong. And the people agreed and held the youth, waiting for the judgment of abd-al-Mamat.

The vizier spent seven nights and a night searching through his dusty tomes of legend and law and the ancient books brought to him by his blinded servants. He spoke with all who knew the young sheikh and the dead girl, talked to elders of other tribes, communed with the portents, publicly called on Fate to guide him. In the end, however, he returned to the sheikh's pavilion, his face wet with tears. There could be no doubt, he said. Abd-al-Mamat had to find the youth guilty of his horrid crime.

Under the laws of the people, one's punishment was as befits one's crime. A thief loses a hand, as you have clearly seen. A spy has his eyes gouged out so he may witness no more, and a horse-thief has his tendons cut, so that he may never ride a horse again. It is a harsh law, yes, but remember, al-Kathos is a harsh land.

So it was that the punishment for bloody and painful murder was to be tortured and killed, the process lasting several days. Abd-al-Mamat could have called upon another to oversee this lingering death, but shook his head and took the responsibility himself, blaming himself in the hearing of all for not teaching the youth better.

And the people saw the vizier overseeing the death of his young charge, tears in his eyes as he flayed his flesh and cut him into small pieces. And after the last breath left the shattered body of the young sheikh, abd-alMamat gathered the people together.

Abd-al-Mamat said to them," We have no sheikh, no leader. We must disband the tribe and seek out other tribes with true leaders to follow."

And the people said: We have a leader, and his name is abd-al-Mamat. And abd-al-Mamat said," I cannot be sheikh. I am not noble."

And the people said: You are wise and just and stern and have chosen well when our sheikhs had failed. You have chosen the law over your own loyalties. You may not be a sheikh, but you are our leader.

And so it was that abd-al-Mamat became the leader of his tribe. He kept the title of vizier, serving only to counsel his people, but was sheikh in all but name. He sat at the head of the feast, and his advice was considered as law.

And if he was glad in his heart for the events of Fate, or felt guilt for his own role in those events, he never revealed it to his people. He kept his heart shrouded by duty and his secret face shielded by a stern and fair visage. It would be an easy matter to say that when the people left abd-al-Mamat alone in the pavilion of the sheikh, now his own, that a smile would crack the vizier's stony demeanor, that he would begin to laugh. But none could have witnessed this, and more remains to the tale.

The tribesmen became wealthier still under abd-alMamat's firm hand. The encampment at the base of the last spire of the Lost Mountains became first a village of tents, then a walled town of mud brick, then at last a city of stone. The pavilion of the sheikh became a beautiful granite Hall of Judgment, and in its central court the vizier sat on a throne of tortoise shell and agate and chalcedony, and advised and counseled, and decided for his people.

And the tribe did prosper in matters of wealth and prestige, for the robes of their lowest castes were sumptuous and bedecked in rare gems and rarer pearls. Yet inwardly, they grew cold and remote from one another, always choosing to follow the wise advice of their vizier, careful not to violate his commandments.

And there were many commandments, for the vizier still paced his quarters, though they now be bound by finished stone instead of cloth and their floor covered with rich rugs instead of dirt. Again he cursed his Fate. He had made himself the servant of the people, as he had earlier made himself the servant of the sheikh, and as before, he found those he served to be unworthy. They had come to rely on him too much, such that they could not decide anything without his direct order. They were petty and quarrelsome and greedy and spiteful, and deserved nothing less than a stern hand of judgment to keep them from destroying all he had built for them.

One morning a man and two women appeared before him for his advice. The man had told each woman that he would make that woman his wife and take no other. The man could not choose between the two, for both were fair of face and heart, and each woman demanded he make good his proposal. The vizier listened with a stony glare, and wondered how it came to be that he, who had loved nothing but judgment, was called upon to settle such matters of the heart.

The vizier shook his head and said," If the man cannot decide, then he will be split between the two women, hoping that such a sentence would force the man to decide, or one of the women to save the man's life by abandoning her claim. Instead, all three nodded at the wisdom of the vizier, and when the man could still not decide, he was split down the middle, vertically, and each half stuffed and presented to each woman. And each woman spoke of the wisdom of abd-al-Mamat.

For his part, the vizier cursed the stupidity of his people, and his Fate that put him at the forefront of such fools. He wondered if the old sheikh, in the last moments of his life at the head of the deadly charge, realized he was among such fools, and could do nothing to change their direction. He, abd-al-Mamat, was no fool, and if his people called upon him to judge them, and approved of his iron-hard rulings, he would do so. He would counsel no longer, only order and demand. And judge.

And so he judged, and judged harshly, as harshly as the desert he once called his home, as commanded by tradition and his ancient tomes. A thief would lose a hand for her crime. A gossip would sacrifice his tongue as payment, and a snoop his eye or ear. And those who lost these organs would live still as symbols of the vizier's wisdom and the nature of the law. And the people would nod at his judgment and watch his ordered punishments, and then, cold-eyed and cautious, return to their homes. They became wealthy, but it was a cold wealth built on cold law, harshly enforced. Brothers shrank from warm greetings and strangers in the coffee houses eyed each other suspiciously, for none knew who would next fall victim to the judgment of abd-al-Mamat.

Now this would make a suitable ending for this tale, to simply say it has been such from that day to this. You have heard of a youth who remained unhappy even after becoming the head of the feast, and of a people who sacrificed their freedom for the leadership of one man. All gained what they desired, and all were punished for it. It makes it a suitable tale, but I fear it is not to be. There is more, and it deals with matters of the heart.

On the day after midsummer's eve, two mule-bound riders swayed into the city, leading a caravan of twenty camels heavily laden with carpets and casks of sweetsmelling oil. The man was tall and noble and had the look of one who had been touched by genie's blood, for his glance was penetrating and his smile (yes, he smiled, even at those he did not know!)was brilliant and sharp.

Yet his comely appearance was outshone by the appearance of his companion, a maiden whose face glowed with the beauty of the moon and whose eyes swirled and eddied with azure storms. She was bedecked in simple white robes and kept her face behind a demure veil, yet she wore her garb with the stature of a queen.

Abd-al-Mamat saw the maiden from his window and was immediately smitten with her beauty. His heart (which some would think had hardened to a dull, inert lump by this time)leapt to his throat and pulsed there, sending a warmth through his entire being. He judged the maiden to be the most lovely creature he had ever seen, and vowed to win her as his bride.

Abd-al-Mamat sent a messenger to the merchant, bringing honeyed words of welcome and promises of great reward and trade. The messenger also inquired, discreetly, very discreetly, as to the maiden's relationship to the merchant. And the messenger carried out his mission and returned with a long face and a heavy heart: the maiden was to be the merchant's bride, and the two were very close. The merchant laughed at the suggestion that it might be otherwise.

And so Abd-al-Mamat sent a second messenger, this one bearing a chest filled with the finest gems and rarest pearls, to be laid at the merchant's feet in exchange for the maiden. This messenger too returned with a long face and a heavy heart. The merchant would not consider such a trade, and laughed at the suggestion that it might be otherwise.

And so Abd-al-Mamat sent a third messenger to the merchant, this one bearing a metal box. And in this box were the heavy hearts of the two earlier messengers. This third messenger was told to make no demand, but to merely show the box's contents to the merchant and wait for his response. This merchant too returned with a long face and a heavy heart, for the merchant looked into the box, and shook his head. He did not laugh and neither did he offer the maiden.

There was no fourth messenger. Instead, abd-al-Mamat's guards arrested the merchant and dragged him before the vizier for judgment. An old man, toothless and blind, accused the merchant of stealing an apple from his stand. The merchant laughed, though it was a wary laugh, and denied knowing of the apple, the old man, or the theft. Abd-al-Mamat listened and then made his judgment, quickly. He found the merchant guilty of theft and dictated that he must be punished according to the harsh rules of the desert. The merchant did not laugh at all now, but merely said," If this is to be my Fate, so be it."

And the merchant was taken to the central square, and his left hand was chopped off, as befits the punishment of a thief. And the stump was burned and bound and the merchant sent back to his dwelling with the Hope that both he and others had learned from his example.

That evening the third messenger appeared again with a metal box. And in that box was the hand severed earlier in the day. The messenger made no demands, but reported back to his liege that the merchant still refused to abandon his claim to the maiden. But the merchant no longer laughed.

And so abd-al-Mamat's guards arrived at the merchant's dwelling again and arrested him and brought the young man before the vizier for judgment. An old woman, deaf and weak of limb, accused the merchant of gossip, of spreading foul rumors about her and her husband. The merchant did not laugh, but denied knowing of the old woman, her husband, or the gossip.

Abd-al-Mamat listened and then made his judgment, quickly. He found the merchant guilty of gossip and dictated that he must be punished according to the harsh rules of the desert. The merchant did not laugh, but merely said," If this is to be my Fate, so be it."

And the merchant was taken to the central square and the tongs and the awl and the curve-bladed knife were brought out, and his tongue was severed from its roots. And after the fleshy stump remaining was burned and bandaged, the merchant was sent back to his quarters with the hope that both he and others had learned from his example.

That evening the third messenger reappeared with the metal box, and in that box was the severed tongue. The messenger reported back to his liege that the merchant still refused to abandon his claim to the maiden.

And so once more abd-al-Mamat's guards came to the merchant's dwelling and arrested him and brought the young man before the vizier for judgment. This time the vizier himself was the accuser. The vizier noted that the merchant was maimed and lacked a tongue, and as such could no longer carry out the simple requirements of trade and barter. Yet he still intended to wed his maiden. To condemn such a beauty to apparent poverty, the vizier said, was the mark of a heartless man.

And the merchant said nothing in his defense, (for he had no tongue), and the vizier came to his judgment, quickly.

The merchant was taken to the central square before the great Hall of Judgment. And there abd-al-Mamat himself removed the heart of the man he found heartless, both as a punishment and an example to others. And if the people were shocked as their solemn leader held his bloody trophy aloft, none spoke out against it.

Abd-al-Mamat repaired to his hall and remained there, thinking, through the night. In the morning, he declared that the merchant's belongings had been abandoned by the departed merchant, and by the harsh law of the land were now the property of the vizier. Said belongings included the carpets, casks, and camels. . and the maiden.

Even with the laws against gossip, the news of this announcement spread quickly through the town, and by the time the vizier's guards arrived to claim the maiden, she was gone. Some idle voices said she was seen climbing the last spur of the Lost Mountains, and so it was that she was seen there as the last rays of the sun faded from the sky. And she spread her arms wide and leapt from that summit, a black mote streaking against the blood-red sun.

She never struck the ground.

Some said (quietly) that she was blown aloft by wind; others (more quietly) that she had been seized by a great djinn; still others (quieter still) that she herself transformed into a creature of the air and vanished; a few (the most quiet of all) that both she and the merchant were touched by genie blood, and as such neither could truly be killed.

And here is another possible end of the story, for both the young lovers had gone on to greater rewards, and abd-al-Mamat was left cold-hearted and alone, his frozen spirit broken in the face of a greater bond of love. But, alas, that is not the end of the tale.

Abd-al-Mamat brooded for seven nights and a night, neither speaking nor eating. At the end of that time, he resumed his judgments of his people, and he was harsher than ever. The guards who had arrested the merchant were beheaded for not arresting the merchant when he entered the city. The gossips who warned the maiden of the guards'approach had their lips sewn together in tight stitches and as such starved. The third messenger was accused of stealing the vizier's words, and so lost only a hand, as I have lost mine.

The judgments did not stop there, for abd-al-Mamat's eyes and ears were everywhere. And wherever abd-al-Mamat looked, he judged, and wherever he judged, he found the people wanting, and issued his punishments accordingly. Soon the city was filled with the blinded, the tongueless, the orphaned, and the lame, such that those who were whole were viewed with suspicion and soon found themselves under judgment as well.

So it went for a year, and the city of abd-al-Mamat became known as the Wounded City and was shunned by travelers and caravans. And there were none within the city who were whole, for all had been found guilty in some manner or another, and punished as an example to all. None within the city, save the great and wise vizier, abd-al-Mamat.

So it was on the dawn of the day after midsummer's eve. The first warning on that day was a darkening of the sky from the north, a direction from which no storms normally came. The darkness rose as a obelisk of azure smoke, and as it drove down on the city, there was a low, metallic buzzing, as if it were made of mechanical insects. And as the storm broke over the walls of the city, the people saw that the wind carried not insects, but swords — great scimitars and daggers, cutlasses and tenwars and all manner of blades, which sliced apart everything in their way.

The city gates turned to dust in an instant before this sharp-toothed onslaught. The steel wind cut down those of the vizier's guards who stood and fought, and pulled those who attempted to flee into the streets, slashing them quickly to ribbons. The storm of whirling blades surged into the central court of the city, and up the steps, reducing the marble facade of the Hall of Judgment into mere motes of stone. There was silence for a moment, then the buzzing resumed as the unearthly wind pulled abd-al-Mamat into the central court.

The whirlwind passed over the vizier time and again, and with each passing collected a bloody trophy at the end of one blade. Abd-al-Mamat raised a hand to ward off the blow and had it severed at the wrist. He raised his other hand and lost it as well. Then the arms, the legs, and the features of his face — lips, ears, nose, eyebrows, and eyelids. Great strips of meat were pulled from his torso, and the vitals of his body were gutted by the great steel wind as well.

Yet abd-al-Mamat lived through his punishment and screamed for help from his guards, from his people, and from Fate. But no one answered, and he screamed until the means for him to scream were finally ripped from his ragged form.

At last all that was left was the skull of abd-al-Mamat, its lidless eyes still sharp, alive and silent within their bony housing. Then the steel wind carried off the remains of abd-al-Mamat, still twitching and alive. The wind of swords retreated into the desert and was never seen again.

And this, too, would be another suitable end for the tale, for the vizier of judgment was himself judged, they say, and found wanting, and punished by the harsh ways of the desert, and one could claim that the balance of good and evil was restored.

But alas! Such is not to be, for there is still more.

The time since the vizier's iron rule has not been kind to the people of abd-al-Mamat. Malbus, the ram-horned abomination, began to hunt the people again as animals, dragging them back to his Burning Citadel for his dark amusements. The Sand Singers lured off their men and women to nameless deaths. And the jackal-headed priests of the Rotting Gods struck at will, claiming the eyes of their captives. The people were leaderless and alone.

And, with none to rule it well, the city of Abd-al-Mamat fell apart. The walls crumbled and the fountains ran dry. The Hall of Judgment became a mere shell, housing those who would not leave the grandeur of their forefathers. And of the vizier's throne of tortoise shell and agate and chalcedony, there was no remnant left.

Many of those left would recall the harsh time of abd-al-Mamat and remember them as good days, at least for those who obeyed and knew the law. The fact that those recalling this were often maimed by that law was forgotten. And as time passed, these wounded remnants disappeared, leaving behind only tales and the empty shell of his castle as his testaments. So it was for a hundred years.

Then one of the sons of the sons of the sons of the vizier's followers found the first piece, there at the base of the last spur of the Lost Mountains, on the day after midsummer's eve. It was a left hand, still bloody and living as if newly severed from a thiefs arm. The hand twitched and bled, yet it did not die, and the son of the son of the son of the vizier's follower thought it a miraculous occurrence. In his home, which was in the ruined Hall of Judgment, he made a small shrine for the bleeding hand.

The next year, at the same time and place, a lower left arm appeared, also bloody and alive, as if newly severed from a human. The son of the son of the son of the vizier's follower found it and brought it to the shrine as well. The hand and arm fitted together without a seam showing and could not be pulled apart, such that they became one part. The united hand and arm were kept in the Hall of Judgment as well, and people began to return to the city to visit the shrine and view this curiosity.

Then another piece appeared in the next year, and another in the third, always a new part that seemed recently severed from its host, and always on the day after midsummer's eve. An elbow, an upper arm, a bit of shoulder, the muscles of the neck, and so on. The son of the son of the son of the vizier's follower waited for each piece and fitted the living pieces together. And the collected pieces clung to each other as if they were one, and thrived.

And word spread among the other descendants of abd-al-Mamat's followers: the sons of the sons of the sons and the daughters of the daughters of the daughters, who knew of abd-al-Mamat only from their maimed great-grandparents sighing about a past golden age. The vizier was slowly being returned to his people.

Here we come at last to the end of my tale. It is an ending only in that this is all that has occurred so far. It is said that today the body is almost complete. It is said that only the skull, with its naked, screaming eyes, is missing. And when this last item is restored, the vizier will return fully to lead his people.

And the judgments of abd-al-Mamat will begin anew.